


It's the Little Things

by LizzardLady



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drabble, Gen, One Shot, Prompt Three: The Shadows Call to Me, Short One Shot, in which aziraphale apologizes even though he doesnt have to, someone help these ineffable idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 12:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19173436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzardLady/pseuds/LizzardLady
Summary: Crowley gets upset and Aziraphale is in the wrong place at the wrong time.





	It's the Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> i cant remember if i read over this or not so have fun lmao

"Don't you get it, Aziraphale? It's like the shadows are calling to me; constant, insistent, like the Lord of Hell himself has sent terribly tempting serpents to tempt the, well, the serpent," the demon hissed, frustration clear in his voice.

They had been having an argument over some trivial thing, like a tilted painting or a misplaced shoe, that had escalated greatly to something rather large and important. The demon Crowley was utterly fed up with the bothersome buzzing from Downstairs, and the angel Aziraphale just happened to be there at the wrong time.

"I'm sorry, Crowley," apologized the angel, and he very truly did sound sorry. "I don't understand. I wish I did."

"Of course you don't, you're an _angel_ ," Crowley spat the last word. "Angels don't get into each others' heads like damn parasites, wiggling like worms inside their skulls."

Aziraphale wasn't sure what to say to that, but he grasped for words anyhow, "Then help me to understand. Please, I want to help, my dear.

The desperate look the angel gave Crowley was enough to clear his head, and guilt instantly flood his conscious. He didn't deserve bombardment by words, or by anything, really. Regretfully, the demon took a step away from his old friend, staring into his familiar eyes.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you," he admitted guiltily, leaning against one of the bare walls in his home. "It . . . it just got to me, I guess."

Much to his comfort, the look on the angel's face turned from crumbling to soft. Crowley imagined that look would feel fluffy and airy, if you could feel a stare.

"It's alright, my dear. My apologies for being unable to understand," Aziraphale replied, smiling gently at him, like he always does.

"No, no, don't _you_ apologize. I'm the one that got mad for no reason."

"But there was a reason."

"You know what I meant."

The angel chuckled at that, "What I'm trying to say is that I don't blame you for what you said. Shall we go out for ice cream, or something similar?"

Sudden change in topic between the two immortals wasn't uncommon. Aziraphale often did it to give Crowley an out, or to essentially say 'End of discussion, I don't want to hear anymore of your stubborn defiance, my dear'. Crowley didn't do it much, as he was too dedicated to give up in a conversation so easily. You could call him irrationally resilient in things that aren't quite important.

"I'd like that, angel," Crowley hummed, flowing with the change in subject. "Somewhere familiar, or somewhere new?"

"Somewhere new," Aziraphale said after a moment, his eyes lighting up. "In America, there's a place with around forty different flavors."

Crowley linked his arm with his best friend's, "To America, then."

Long story short, an assortment of accidents led to the destruction of one of the ice cream shops. Some people said they saw two oddly dressed fellows in the midst of it all, but it couldn't be their fault the store had suddenly been overrun by the cold dessert, right?


End file.
